


Where The Cypress Tree Grew

by silverstardust



Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [3]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: "My Love" is still the best petname, ? - Freeform, Actual fishing this time, Aka Mumrik Christmas, Baby Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Bonfires, Book 2: Kometjakten | Comet in Moominland, Cat Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Chronic Pain, Destroying a Park, Dorks in Love, Elements of Racism, Fae & Fairies, Family Reunions, Fantastic Racism, Festivals, Fishing, Flooding, Fluff, Forebodings, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Happy Ending, He's a toddler, Journaling, JoxMym but its not tagged bc it's not relevant to the plot, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of alcohol, Midwinter, More Mythology, Mumriks cant swim, Mymble's 13 other daughters, Original Mythology, Park Keepers - Freeform, Parties, Plant Identification, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Ribbon on a tail means you're married, Ribbons, Sacred Trees, Shyness, Sign Destruction, Smoking, Snow, Snufkin's a shy child, Snusmumriken | Snufkin is a Cat, So basically Joxter bought a wedding ring, Stepdad Joxter, Storytelling, Tea, The Comet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Train Hopping, Tree Climbing, Tree Naps, Winter, Winter Travels, Wolves, bear traps, but oh is it there, ish, name carving, parks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstardust/pseuds/silverstardust
Summary: Taking Snufkin on his winter travels was not as bad as Joxter might have feared. Since Snufkin was still only four, he had been slightly worried about keeping him entertained, but it seemed the worries were for naught. Snufkin entertained himself quite easily without Joxter’s help, chasing the few remaining creatures that had not yet gone into hibernation, or questioning him about the new plants he was seeing as they began their trek up Lonely Mountain...Drip.Drip.Drip.The leak continued to drip through no matter what Joxter did to it. He had patched it, tarred it, blocked it, anything he could think of, but the leak continued to drip through. Icy cold, absolutely chilling, and inky black, it continued to wet anything it landed on, a maddening noise that echoed and rang in Joxter’s ears like a siren’s wailing.--July 30, 2020 Update: A heavily edited version of this story is in the works for publication. Any publication of this story or a story similar is authorized.
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter & Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495559
Comments: 25
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

Winter is descending upon Moomin Valley, and its residents were beginning to prepare to settle down for the season. Wood was carefully stacked in the cellars, the last of the jams preserved for the spring, and pine needles collected and eaten for the traditional hibernational dishes. Yes, all of Moomin Valley was ready for its four month hibernation.

Well, most.

“Have you packed enough bandage rolls?”

Joxter laughed, packing the last few items into his bag for his winter travels. “Yes, Mym. I think three is quite enough. Unless you actually want me to run into trouble..”

Mymble huffed, continuing to stir a small pot on the stove. “Don’t you dare. You know what happened last time you were late coming back. Snufkin threw a righteous fit when you weren’t home the first day.”

“I know, I know. I won’t be late.” Joxter closed his bag, pushing it up against the wall and out of the way.

The log in the fireplace crackled pleasantly, and from the living room, the record player was softly playing a tune that Mymble hummed along with, swaying side to side at the stove. Joxter stood up, walking over to Mymble, and draped himself across her back, arms wrapped around her torso and leaning up to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“I love you.”

“Feeling affectionate today, I see,” Mymble teased. She reached up with her free hand and scratched behind Joxter’s ear, causing a purr to ride up in his throat. “I love you too, my dear.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I think you’ll be much too busy for that. Besides, there won’t be much to miss. I’ll be asleep the entire time.”

“It’s the principal of the thing, my love.” He spun Mymble around, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist and taking her hand in his other. He pulled her away from the stove and together they swayed to the music coming from the record player.

“Spring will come soon enough. Although perhaps not soon enough for Snufkin.”

“He’ll be fine once hibernation starts.”

“You’ll be leaving soon then?”

Joxter’s gaze drifted over Mymble’s shoulder, to the kitchen window. The sun had just finished setting, beautiful hues of orange and red fading into purples and deep blues in the sky. The trees swung enchantingly in a chilly breeze, beckoning-

“Joxie?”

Joxter tore his eyes away from the window.

“Tomorrow morning. I’ve stayed too long as it is, I think. Can’t stay any longer or I’ll risk getting trapped in snow on Lonely Mountain.” Joxter lifted Mymble’s arm, slowly spinning her.

Mymble chuckled, wrapping both her arms around his shoulders. “And instead of making sure you’re completely prepared, you’re goofing off with me?”

“You’re the one enabling me, it’s your fault I’m afraid. Besides, I’m feeling silly.”

“You’re going to catch your death on Lonely Mountain.”

“I’d crawl back to you as a bog body if I had to.”

“Papa’s leaving?”

“Snufkin!” Mymble pulled away from Joxter and placed her hands on her hips. “It’s long past your bedtime, little wildling. You ought to be in bed like your sisters.”

“You said papa is leaving tomorrow,” Snufkin protested. “He can’t leave. I’ll get lonely.”

“If you wake up during the winter, you’re supposed to go back to sleep, not stay up. That’s why you’re getting lonely.”

Joxter raised an eyebrow, looking to Mymble. “He’s waking up during the winter?”

Mymble gave a slight shrug. “Too Ticki-”

“Who?”

“Mumble’s friend. Too Ticki said she caught him out in the snow mid-January last year. Said he kept waking up and wouldn’t stay asleep.”

“Mumriks don’t hibernate, I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s only going to get harder for him to hibernate. If you don't mind, I could..”

“It’s your call, love. I wouldn’t mind if you did. Might even help with his wandering tendencies.”

“Snufkin-” Joxter began, turning around, but Snufkin was gone. His winter bag had been knocked over and rifled through, a few items scattered on the floor. “Fuck.”

“Language. What did he snag this time?”

Joxter tucked the items back into his bag, looking through it. “Notebook’s gone.”

“The one you keep track of your forebodings in?”

“Yep.” Joxter closed his bag back up and tucked it back against the wall. He headed upstairs to the children’s bedrooms, and poked his head into one of the rooms. Snufkin was curled up in his bed, the blankets scrunched up around him like a little den, but Joxter knew he was still awake. He walked into the room and sat down on the edge of Snufkin’s bed, placing a hand gently on his back.

“Snufkin, I’d like to have my notebook back, please.”

“I don’t have it.”

“You don’t?” Joxter feigned surprise. “Oh dear. I must have lost it. That’s no good, I won’t be able to leave without it.” He gave Snufkin a sad smile when he poked his head out of the blanket, eyes shimmering with hope. “I’m very sorry, Snufkin. I wanted to take you with me this year, but we won’t be able to go.”

Joxter stood up as Snufkin’s face fell, turning to leave the room.

“Papa.”

Joxter turned back to look at him. “Yes, Snufkin?”

With a guilty look, Snufkin reached under his pillow and pulled out Joxter’s notebook, gripping it tightly.

“So you did take my notebook. It’s not nice to take something that’s important to someone, Snufkin.” Joxter sat back down on the edge of Snufkin’s bed. “If you absolutely must take something, it shouldn’t be important to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” Snufkin hugged the journal to his chest. “Are you really going to take me with you, papa?”

“You’ve got to go to bed if you want to come with me, or you’ll be too tired to come.” Joxter gently pulled the notebook from Snufkin’s arms, flipping through the pages. “Shall I tell you a story?”

Snufkin stopped Joxter on a certain page, pointing to one of the sketches. “Tell me about her, papa. She’s very pretty.”

Joxter smiled, running his finger along the sketch of a mumrik with face paint, and ears and a tail like a fox. “Yes, she is very pretty. She’s called the Painted Lady. Do you remember the story of Cypress and Micheal?”

“The tree man and the very first mumrik?”

“Yes! Very good, Snufkin. The Painted Lady is Micheal’s wife, and they were very happy together, a long time ago.”

Snufkin scooted closer to peer at the picture again. “Hundreds of years ago?”

“Thousands.”

“That’s a very long time. What did she do?”

“Well, she had a lot of kids. A lot, like your mama, but even more. And now she protects aaaaaall the little mumrik kits who ought to be in bed and sleeping.” Joxter playfully tweaked Snufkin’s nose, making him giggle, and stood up, closing his notebook. “Back under your blankets, you little wild thing. It’s past your bedtime.”

Snufkin snuggled back into his little den of blankets, just the tip of his nose sticking out from the bundle. He remained there for a second, before sticking his head out again. “Papa? Do you promise to take me with you?”

“I promise.”

“Shake on it.” Snufkin spit into his hand and held it out. Joxter chuckled and spit into his own hand before shaking Snufkin’s.

“Gross,” one of the girls said from her own bed across the room.

“And Viola, if you put your novel back on your nightstand, I won’t tell your mother that you were up reading past bedtime again.” Joxter wiped his hand on the knee of his trousers.

The girl sheepishly pulled a good sized book out from under her covers, reaching out and setting it on her nightstand. Joxter winked, placing a finger to his lips before he left the room.

“Goodnight, girls. Snufkin and I will be gone in the morning, if you’re awake. Have a good hibernation.”

A small chorus of ‘goodbyes’, along with Snufkin’s singular ‘goodnight’ echoed from the room, and Joxter shut the bedroom door, tucking his notebook away in his pocket. He continued about his rounds, going into the other rooms (for they were five a room), turning off lights and putting away books and playing cards, tucking in and administering goodnight kisses to the girls who requested it. Every room he reminded them that he’d be gone in the morning, and wished them a pleasant hibernation, and little choruses of ‘goodbye, papa’s ‘goodnight, Mr. Joxter’s followed him out of every room.

Joxter headed back downstairs, pulling his notebook out from his pocket again and put it back in its pouch, in his travelling bag. “All the girls have been put to bed.”

Mymble nodded, cutting a few slices from a loaf of bread. “And Snufkin?”

“Made me shake on it, so I’ll be taking him with me when I leave tomorrow.”

“I’m just finishing up breakfast for you two. All you’ll have to do is heat it up in the morning.”

“You’re fantastic, love.” Joxter wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the counter gently and carefully dipping her, giving her a quick kiss. Mymble laughed once again at his shenanigans, throwing her arms around him.

“Bring some the last of the apples with you, love. He’s half mymble, you know, he’s got to eat fruit or veggies every day, and they’ll just go bad over the winter.”

“I know, love.”

“And please actually use your tent. I know you love sleeping in trees, but I’d rather you use a tent for Snufkin’s first trip.”

“Of course.”

“And please be safe. I love you.”

“I will. I love you too.” Joxter pulled her back up, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. Mymble smiled softly at him, cupping her hands on his cheeks and kissed him once again.

“We should get married,” Joxter whispered.

Mymble gave a shrill, startled laugh, pushing Joxter away slightly. “Joxter! That’s hardly a way to propose-”

“I think you’ll find I hardly ever do anything conventional, my love.” He laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Your pot’s boiling over, by the way.”

Mymble gasped, darting over to the stove and quickly moving the bubbling pot off the flame. She set it aside to cool, and blew out the flame.

“I thought mumriks didn’t do the whole settling down business.”

“And I didn’t think mymbles did the whole returning to one partner four years in a row business.”

“Touche.”

Joxter stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mymble,” he whispered. “Marry me.”

Mymble gently loosened his hold on her, turning around and placing her hands on his chest.

“Come back in the spring. And then we’ll talk, okay?”

Joxter smiled, taking her hands in his and squeezing them as he leaned in and kissed her nose. “Go to bed, my love. I can see the exhaustion in your face.”

“Will you be coming to bed as well?”

“In a little bit. I’m going to get Snufkin’s bag ready first. He’ll probably want to carry something too.”

Mymble nodded, pulling away from Joxter and double checking that she’d put out the flame on the stove. “Alright. Goodnight, then. I’ll see you in the spring.”

Joxter smiled, leaning against the counter once again. “Goodnight. Sleep well during hibernation.”

Mymble disappeared into their bedroom, and Joxter snuck around the house as quietly as he could, finding a bag small enough for Snufkin and putting a few of their trip supplies into the bag for Snufkin to carry. He set out some bowls for them to use in the morning, and made sure the pot was covered, before he slipped into their bedroom and joined Mymble in bed. Joxter fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and it felt almost instantaneous to him when, in the morning, Snufkin placed his tiny paws on him to shake him awake.

“Papa. Papa, wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” Joxter groaned, rolling over in bed and pulling the blanket over his own head, but Snufkin was undeterred. He jumped onto Joxter, shaking his shoulders.

“Papa! It snowed!”

Joxter bolted upright, quickly grabbed ahold of Snufkin before he toppled off the bed. “What do you mean it snowed?”

“It snowed! The ground is all white!” Snufkin slid off the bed and ran out of the bedroom. Joxter scrambled out of bed to follow, running through the living room and outside, into the snow. Snufkin was laughing in delight, scampering about in the powdery snow and tossing it in the air.

Joxter shivered in the cold, stamping the snow under his paws. It was powdery, the most annoying type of snow, but there wasn’t too much of it on the ground, perhaps only an inch. If they left this morning, they should be able to get over Lonely Mountain before it became too much to travel in.

“Snufkin!” Joxter called. “Come inside now! We’ve got to get going before it snows more!”

“Coming, papa!”

Snufkin climbed back over the railing of the porch, and Joxter shooed him back into the house, making sure to close the door to keep the house warm for the women in the house.

“Sit at the table, I’ll heat up breakfast for you.” Joxter stepped into the kitchen, taking the covered pot Mymble had left out the previous night and set it on the stove. As Snufkin climbed into his chair, Joxter lit the stove with a match and began to heat the pot up.

“We’ll have to leave this morning, or we could get snowed in.” Joxter scooped some of the heated oatmeal into a bowl for Snufkin and passed it to him. He took an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, and began cutting it into slices for himself.

“It’ll be cold though.”

“Your mother made you a scarf, and I pulled out one of my old jackets for you to use.”

Snufkin paused in his eating, looking at Joxter excitedly. “Really?? Can I keep it?”

“Sure, as long as it still fits you. You might grow bigger than I am. Finish up so we can leave.”

Snufkin stuck his tongue out at Joxter but quickly finished his oatmeal, pushing the empty bowl away from him. Joxter helped him into the old jacket, rolling up the comically oversized sleeves for him, and snugly tied a scarf around his neck. As Snufkin stuck the last of the apples from the fruit bowl into his bag, Joxter pulled on his own coat and slung his bag over his shoulder, and the two were off.

Taking Snufkin on his winter travels was not as bad as Joxter might have feared. Since Snufkin was still only four, he had been slightly worried about keeping him entertained, but it seemed the worries were for naught. Snufkin entertained himself quite easily without Joxter’s help, chasing the few remaining creatures that had not yet gone into hibernation, or questioning him about the new plants he was seeing as they began their trek up Lonely Mountain.

“Papa! What’s this one?” Snufkin ran back over to Joxter, holding a twig carefully. Joxter crouched down, taking the twig and holding it up.

“Remember this plant, Snufkin. This is Black Bryony. The berries are poisonous.” Joxter plucked one of the berries off the twig and rolled it between his fingers. “It looks very similar to the winter berries we found earlier, doesn’t it? But what’s different about this plant?”

“The winter berries have spiky leaves.”

“Very good! And these ones are flat and round. You should only eat winter berries with spiky leaves, or you won’t feel very good. Alright?”

Snufkin took the twig back from Joxter, turning it in his hands and studying the plant closer. Then he turned around and chucked it as far as he could.

“Alright. Is there anywhere we’re specifically going, papa?”

Joxter shrugged, turning back to walk along the trail again. “We’ll go wherever we want to, but we have to get over Lonely Mountain first.”

“I want to see the black ocean you told me about!” Snufkin ran ahead on the trail. “Cmon, papa! Let’s go!”

“Don’t fall!”

  


  


By the time the sun was setting, with Joxter eager to get over the mountain before it snowed again and carrying Snufkin when he grew tired, they were at the base on the other side of the mountain. They had a quick dinner of the dried fish Joxter had prepared and wrapped earlier in the week, and Joxter taught Snufkin how to locate the North Star and how to set up a tent before they settled down for the night.

Snufkin snuggled in underneath the blanket, attaching himself to Joxter’s shirt. “Papa?”

“Yes, Snufkin?”

“Thank you for taking me with you this year.”

Joxter smiled, tucking the blanket around Snufkin and kissing his forehead. “You’re welcome. Sleep well, you little wild thing.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! I know this is late. I work retail so the past two days have been hell, but I had today off so I was able to get this up today! The next chapter WILL be on time.

_Drip._

  


_Drip._

  


_Drip._

  


_The leak continued to drip through no matter what Joxter did to it. He had patched it, tarred it, blocked it, anything he could think of, but the leak continued to drip through. Icy cold, absolutely chilling, and inky black, it continued to wet anything it landed on, a maddening noise that echoed and rang in Joxter’s ears like a siren’s wailing. Snufkin laughed in glee at the leak, and stuck his tongue underneath it, letting the water drip into his mouth._

  


_Drip._

  


_Drip-_

  


  


Joxter snapped his eyes open. He sat up, careful not to disturb Snufkin, and looked up to inspect the canvas roof of the tent but- no, there was no leak. Just his temples pounding with a migraine. He rifled through his bag, pulling out his pipe and tobacco, and left the tent to smoke.

  


Surely it was just a very odd dream. The ground underneath his feet was slightly moist. It must have sprinkled overnight, he assumed, the cause of his dream if he had heard it in his sleep. A good thing Mymble had given them a rain protector cover to use for the tent. It’d be no good for Snufkin to catch a cold now that they had already left.

  


Joxter snagged his fishing pole from their camp before heading to the river a stone’s throw away from their camp. He cast it into the water and then stuck the pole into the dirt, sitting down next to it to pack his pipe. He much preferred, usually, to fish with his own claws, but the river’s source was up in the peak of the mountains, and he knew it’d be icy cold.

  


Joxter struck the match against a rock and lit his pipe, resting back against a tree.

  


“Papa?”

  


“Good morning, Snufkin.”

  


Snufkin yawned, sitting down next to Joxter and cuddling up to him. Joxter smiled, turning his head to blow the smoke away from Snufkin.

  


“Did you sleep well?”

  


Snufkin nodded.

  


“Why don’t you grab the fishing rod you made and I’ll teach you to fish?”

  


Snufkin bolted up and scampered off into the underbrush as Joxter pulled his own line back. Snufkin returned with his own rod and a bucket to hold the fish they caught.

  


“There we are.” Joxter grinned and cast out his line again, showing Snufkin how to toss it out. He stuck his pole in the ground again and filled the bucket with water as Snufkin attempted to toss his line.

  


“Like this, papa?”

  


“Square your back a bit more- there you go!”

  


Snufkin’s wooden lure bobbed in the surface, and he turned back to Joxter, gripping his pole and grinning brightly.

  


“Very good, Snufkin. And now we wait. You can hold your pole, or you can put it in the dirt like mine.” Joxter sat back down and patted the ground next to him.

  


Snufkin sat down next to Joxter, choosing to hold onto his pole. “How long do we wait, papa?”

  


“It depends if the fish are curious. If the fish are curious, it won’t take very long. But we might have to wait a while if they’re not curious.”

  


“What if they’re not curious at all today?”

  


“Well, then we’ll pack our camp and have apples for breakfast, and as we walk, I can try to catch a rabbit or a few large birds.”

  


Snufkin frowned.

  


“Hey now, what’s with that face?”

  


“I think I’d rather just have fish. You can learn things from birds and rabbits, papa.”

  


“Sometimes you haven’t got a choice, little wildling.”

  


Snufkin’s frown grew deeper, and he stared intently at his lure.

  


Joxter sighed through his nose, and gently patted Snufkin’s shoulder. “Okay, Snufkin. We’ll stick to the river so we can catch fish.”

  


Snufkin smiled, snuggling back into Joxter’s coat. “Good.”

  


They could make do, Joxter supposed. He had dried a fair amount of fish and carefully wrapped it up before they had left- if there were a day or two where the fish just refused to bite, they’d be alright. He could also attempt to smoke-dry any extras that they caught to keep it preserved until they ate it. And Snufkin needed fruit in his diet, so they’d already be fruit and mushroom scavenging as they walked every day.

  


Snufkin’s lure bobbed in the water before being sharply yanked down, and Snufkin stumbled to his feet, pulled up by his pole.

  


“You’ve got one, Snuf! Pull it in now!”

  


Snufkin struggled with his pole, so Joxter sat up and grabbed the pole, helping him to pull it in from the water. A large, gleaming bass was at the end of Snufkin’s fishing hook, and Joxter held it up for Snufkin to look at, grinning ecstatically. 

  


“Excellent catch, Snufkin! That’s a big catch, and on your first try! You’re going to be an excellent fisher.”

  


Snufkin giggled with excitement, clasping both hands over his grin. Joxter unhooked the fish and dropped it into their bucket before retrieving his own rod. Together they headed back to their camp, and when Joxter was in the middle of dismantling their tent so they could leave as soon as they had eaten and cleaned up, Snufkin laughed with excitement again.

  


“Papa! Look! A puppy!”

  


“Hmm?” Joxter looked up from folding up the tent canvas, and icy cold dread shot down his spine to the tip of his tail.

  


A wolf stood at the edge of their camp clearing. The fur along its face rippled. And it bared its teeth in a snarl. Joxter stood up tall and growled back it, but the wolf didn’t retreat. At Joxter’s growl, Snufkin well silent and scooted back, closer to him.

  


Joxter couldn’t very well fight off a wolf. Well- he could, and convince it he was much too dangerous for it to prey on him, but if the wolf were part of a pack, attacking it and chasing it off would leave Snufkin vulnerable and open to an attack from a pack. As it was, wolves often avoided mumriks- much too large and much to willing to fight back to be an easy prey. It had to be desperate. He tried to spare a moment to glance around their camp to see if there was any hint of a pack around them, but the second he ceased eye contact, the wolf slunk forward a few steps, stalking. Joxter’s eyes snapped back to it, growling again.

  


It had to be desperate, mumriks and wolves ignored each other, unless it was about protecting turf- and he knew there were no wolf dens nearby, he had checked before they set up camp. It had to be desperate-

  


Joxter’s eyes landed on the wolf’s hind leg, a mess of unruly fur and dried blood, a bear claw trap sunk deep into the muscle of its leg.

  


“Papa?” Snufkin asked quietly.

  


“It wants to play a game, Snufkin. It’s a staring contest. If you look away, the dog wins, but if the dog looks away, you win. Okay?”

  


“Okay.”

  


“You need to keep playing the game with the dog, okay?”

  


Joxter warily crept closer to the wolf. The wolf growled in warning, and Joxter bared his fangs at it in response.

  


“What are you doing?”

  


“It’s hurt. I’m going to help it, but if you stop playing, it might run away before I can, and we won’t be able to help him.”

  


“The big thingie on his leg?”

  


“Yes. Keep playing.”

  


Slowly, hesitantly, Joxter reached out and brushed his fingers along its flank.

  


The wolf snarled and spun around, snapping at Joxter. In a panic, he slapped both his hands around its muzzle, holding it tightly and stopping it from opening its mouth to bite at him again. Tightening his grip with one hand, he slightly loosened his grip with the other and pet along its muzzle, hushing it softly. It took the wolf a minute to stop squirming under Joxter’s touch, and he slowly let go, hands out and claws retracted. He stayed still for a moment, as did the wolf. Joxter backed up a step, still staring it in the eyes.

  


And instantaneously dashed to the side and ripped the broken bear trap open. The wolf lunged at him again, teeth snapping on air dangerously close to his ear before leaping away, still favoring its injured leg. Joxter dropped the trap, backing up again.

  


“Snufkin, I think the fish you caught is much too big for us to eat. Don’t you think?”

  


Snufkin glanced away from the wolf to their fishing bucket.

  


“The dog probably hasn’t been able to find food because he’s been hurt. Do you want to give the fish to it?”

  


“Does he like fish?” Snufkin inched over to the bucket, reaching into it and grabbing the fish he had caught.

  


“Very much so. Stay right there and throw it to him. Don’t get close.”

  


Snufkin nodded, taking a step away from the bucket. He threw the fish as far away to the wolf as he could as Joxter leapt away. The wolf lunged and snagged the fish before disappearing back into the forest.

  


Joxter grabbed the tent poles, quickly wrapping the canvas up around them and shoved it into his bag. “Pack up, Snufkin. We’ll eat along the way, we need to leave now.” He threw his bag over his shoulder and dumped the water from their fishing bucket over their fire, to make sure it was completely out.

  


“Will the dog be okay, papa?” Snufkin pulled on his own bag and took the fishing bucket from Joxter.

  


“Yes, but we don’t want it coming back.”

  


Joxter found their trail again easily and started heading down it, with Snufkin fast on his heels.

  


“Why not?”

  


“Because it’s a very dangerous dog. He’s very big, so he could hurt us.”

  


Snufkin’s face dropped. “Oh…”

  


Joxter ruffled Snufkin’s hair. “Don’t worry. He’ll be okay now that he has that trap off his leg and now that he has food. He’ll get it clean and he’ll get better.”

  


“I hope so.” Snufkin handed Joxter one of the apples from his bag before running down the trail, Joxter hurrying after him.

  


The icy dread of forebodings rushed down Joxter's spine only moments later. In his mind's eye, the image of a bear's trap flashed, bright red, and screaming echoed faintly in his ears as the accompanying migraine began. Joxter skidded to a stop, barking out a quick command to Snufkin in mumrikar _(dangerhurtstop)_ and Snufkin stopped in his tracks, turning back to him, hands clutched into his jacket.

  


Joxter pressed one hand to his temple, hissing, and stepped forward, snapping a good sized stick off a nearby tree.

  


"Snufkin, come here. Hands at your sides, don't touch anything."

  


Snufkin hesitantly stepped forward, hands still twisting the fabric of his jacket. Joxter pointed to the underbrush growing over the path.

  


"Do you see that overgrowth, Snufkin?"

  


"Yes, papa."

  


"Look." Joxter carefully pushed away the underbrush, and hidden underneath was a bear claw trap, tightly wound up and ready to spring. Joxter gripped the stick tightly in his hand, and jammed it into the center of the trap. With the horrible sound of clashing metal, the trap snapped shut, sharp teeth splintering the stick instantaneously with ease. Snufkin went white, letting go of his jacket.

  


"You must be careful, Snufkin. That would have been your leg." Joxter threw what remained of the stick to the side of the path. "You must remember. Plants don't grow on paths, they get trampled. If you see a plant that does not look normal, or is not growing in a proper spot, you must stay away from it. Understand?"

  


"Yes, papa."

  


Joxter pushed the rest of the ripped up underbrush aside, making sure there was no other traps underneath, before continuing down the path. Snufkin walked close to his side, twisting his fingers in his jacket sleeves.

  


"Papa. That was the thing on the dog's leg."

  


"Yes it was."

  


"Why is it out here? It could hurt animals. Or people."

  


"Some people are just very mean, Snufkin. They don't understand mumriks. They think we're dangerous and that we hurt people, so they put out traps to hurt us."

  


"But we don't hurt people." Snufkin glanced over his shoulder, back to the trap.

  


"No, we don't. But we have claws and teeth and nighteyes, and they don't, and that makes them scared. Like birds being scared of cats."

  


"Oh," Snufkin whispered, and they walked in silence.

  


  


A couple hours walk away from their previous campsite was a town, a little busy, but not too crowded for the two to be deterred from it. There were a few stalls set up outside of shops, here and there, mostly the last of the local produce left from the Autumn Harvest, or other similar goods, and Joxter followed Snufkin as he flitted from stand to stand with wide eyes. The town was getting ready for a winter holiday, Joxter assumed as he eyed a couple wreaths and decorations. It wasn’t the Midwinter Solstice, judging from the lack of cypress branches, but some sort of winter holiday, with bright reds and dark greens everywhere, in the delicate gift paper and decorations hanging from the building eves. Similar to Midwinter, perhaps, but he couldn’t remember the name.

  


Snufkin stopped at a tailor’s booth, eyeing the bright, color fabric swatches set up on display. But the fabric was freshly woven, as one would expect, and he lost interest quickly.

  


“Would you like to look at something?” One of the young girls behind the booth set down her fabric and scissors, stepping up to the little counter.

  


Snufkin wrinkled his nose. “No. They’re pretty, but I like old stuff better. They have stories.”

  


The girl laughed, leaning against her counter. “I’d expect nothing less from a mumrik’s son. Old fabric can have very wonderful stories.”

  


A horse and carriage came running down the main road, golden winter bells ringing cheerily from the harnesses, and Joxter scooped Snufkin up, stepping off the street and out of the way. He set Snufkin back down after the carriage had passed and almost went to leave the booth, to go somewhere else that had more of Snufkin’s interest, but as he turned, the display of ribbon spools caught his eye, and he hesitated.

  


“Find something after all?” the girl asked.

  


There was a beautiful roll of forest green ribbon, the same dark shade as Mymble’s eyes, with delicate, intricate blue baby’s breath flowers painstakingly hand stitched in the center. It looked elegant enough to fit in for a formal event, but simple enough to not obnoxiously catch attention day-to-day.

  


The girl’s eyes flitted between Joxter and the ribbon. “We’ve got about six inches of that one left, sir. Not really enough to sell. I’m sure father wouldn’t mind if it was given in a trade.”

  


“I haven’t really got anything of value, I’m afraid.”

  


“Papa.” Snufkin tugged on Joxter’s sleeve. “Your music strings are in my bag. I brought some because I thought you’d bring your guitar.” He took off his bag and held it up.

  


“My mother’s piano needs a couple of new strings. Do you need it wrapped in present wrapper sir?”

  


Joxter pulled the small box of strings out of his bag. “Yes- please.”

  


Joxter set the strings on the table as the girl carefully folded the remaining ribbon and packaged it carefully. The brightly colored package was then gently tucked into Snufkin’s bag.

  


“Thank you.”

  


The girl smiled, setting the box of strings under the counter. “Of course sir, I’m sure she’ll love it. Merry Christmas.”

  


“Good Midwinter.” Joxter scooped Snufkin up again, and they continued on their way.

  


“Papa? Is the ribbon for mama?”

  


“Yes. I thought it was very pretty. Do you think she’ll like it?”

  


“Oh yes! I think she’ll love it!”

  


Joxter chuckled, kissing Snufkin’s forehead. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A San Diego Zoo timberwolf compared to a human, for size reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFq7M5gx8S0
> 
> Blue baby's breath: https://magnaflor.com/shop/bulk-wholesale-babys-breath/blue/


	3. Chapter 3

_Drip._

  


_Drip._

  


_Drip._

  


_The drip had become a trickle of water now. There really was nothing that Joxter could do about it. If, and only if, he had managed to patch it, another trickle of water sprang up somewhere else and took its place. Snufkin had lost interest in playing with the water, choosing to stay away from the leak and the soggy ground beneath it._

_  
_

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_The dripping of the stream and its wet landing seemed intent to drive Joxter mad._

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_Drip._

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_Drip._

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_Drip-_

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Joxter snapped his eyes open. The tent roof above him, free of any damage, ruffled slightly in the December wind, and Snufkin, tightly bundled in a blanket to protect in the winter chill, was tucked up against him.

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They were safe. There was no water.

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Joxter let out a ragged breath, sitting up and rubbing out the slight aches in his wrists. Snufkin stirred beside him.

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“Papa?”

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“I’m alright. Good morning, Snufkin.”

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Snufkin shot him a nonplussed look. “Mama will get sad if you don’t take care of it.”

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“It doesn’t even hurt that bad.” But nonetheless, Joxter pulled his bag closer to him and dug through it. He wrapped some of the bandage roll around his wrist tightly, snapping off the excess with his teeth. Seemingly pleased, Snufkin crawled out of the tent. Joxter closed their bag and crawled out after him.

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They had a quick, easy breakfast, then quickly packed up camp and headed on their way. They were not nearly as south as Joxter would’ve wanted for December- usually he was travelling back north a ways to participate in the Midwinter celebration, before heading back south again. It wasn’t too cold where they were, but there was a chill in the air that nipped at their noses and fingertips. It’s not Snufkin’s fault- for his first trip south, he’s been quite the champ, even wanting to go father than they had instead of stopping for the night. Although he had claimed it didn’t hurt, the slight ache in his wrists and ankles were slowing Joxter down.

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“Which direction are we going today, papa?”

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“It’s almost Midwinter. I thought we’d head to the gathering.”

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“What?”

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Joxter chuckled, leading Snufkin off of the hiking trail they’d been following the past couple of days. “You know how every Midsummer, the Moomins throw a big party after we celebrate your birthday? Well, mumriks also celebrate Midwinter. They have mumrik parties down south from where we live. Since it’s your first trip, I thought you might like to see it.”

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Snufkin wrinkled his nose. “Will it be loud like Moomin parties?”

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“A little bit,” Joxter admitted. “But there will be some spots where it’s not too loud. It’ll probably be loud near the bonfire, because that’s where everyone is drinking, but there will be smaller campfires where it’s quieter, with storytelling or music, or people cooking instead. I like to hang out around there.”

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Snufkin hummed thoughtfully, shoving his hands into the jacket pockets. “Will I have to talk to people?”

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“A little bit. It’s a party after all, but they’ll also understand if you don’t want to talk. It’ll be good for you to practice your mumrikar too.”

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“...will there be fireworks?” Snufkin asked distrustfully.

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“Nope. No mumrik likes the noise of fireworks.”

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Snufkin relaxed a small bit. “Fine. But we’ll leave if I want to?”

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“If it’s too much, we will leave. But like I said, it will be good for you to interact with other mumriks and learn your culture. I think you’ll enjoy yourself though.”

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“Maybe.”

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Joxter chuckled, ruffling Snufkin’s hair.

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Their trailless walk through the forest soon lead them to another hiking trail and they followed this one as it led them out of the deepest parts of the forest. It led them to a large field, surrounded by the forest on most sides. A few structures of wood, already organized to be lit into fires later, were scattered around the field, along with a few tents and a handful of mumriks.

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“Hey there!” Joxter called out. Snufkin shrunk behind him nervously, gripping his jacket. A few of the mumriks looked up to them and waved, and Joxter waved back. But rather than leading Snufkin directly into the group of strangers, he led him to where a couple of tents had already set up, and found a small section slightly isolated to set up their own tent.

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“We’re going to camp here?” Snufkin asked. “With other people?”

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“Nobody camps too close to each other,” Joxter assured him. “And the celebration often goes much too late in the night to find a camp somewhere else before it’s too dark for even us to see. But anytime you want to be by yourself, you can come to our tent. You just have to let me know that’s where you’ll be, alright?”

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“Alright.”

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Joxter smiled reassuringly at him, and finished setting up their tent, tucking their bags safely inside before zipping it closed.

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“Snufkin, why don’t you go play with some of the other kids? It looks like there’s a couple your age around.”

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Snufkin’s face screwed up in hesitation, and he curled his fingers into his jacket. “I don’t like playing with other kids.”

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“They’re not going to be like your sisters, I promise. They’re going to be much more like you instead. And not nearly so loud. Or if you really don’t want to, you can stay with me, but I’ll be helping the other adults get ready.”

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Joxter stood up and walked back towards the large stack of wood that would become the main bonfire later on. He picked up a handful of sticks from the smaller pile next to it, helping to shove the sticks into the holes to ensure the bonfire would burn for the entire night.

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“Anything I can help with?”

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The mumrik next to him squeaked in surprise, pushing up his round spectacles with a mouse grey furred paw. “Oh- pardon, pardon. Thank you, this is help enough.”

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“Kid, I’m not going anywhere until after the celebration. What else can I help with?” Joxter dusted off his hands after shoving in the last couple of sticks, standing back up.

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“Um!” The grey mumrik pushed his glasses back up again- they seemed just a little too large for his face. “Pardon, pardon. Are you the Joxaren? My auntie said if I saw you to ask if you’d be interested in running one of the storytelling bonfires again. You get quite the captive audience, she says, and keep the youngins entertained and from wandering off.”

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“Sure. And in the meantime?”

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“Um-” The mumrik’s eyes darted around the field. “There was a small group, I think they were about to head off and track down a deer or two, to start cooking now instead of having to cook everything later. They haven’t left yet, I think. They could use some help.”

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“Of course. I’ll go find them, thanks. Good luck with the bonfires.”

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“Yessir, thank you!”

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When the sky turned to twilight, the sun setting and the stars beginning to shine in the sky, the main bonfire was lit. A few of the adults had ran to the nearby town and traded for jugs of alcohol, to share along with anything that others had been carrying on their person. The alcohol was being poured out around the main bonfire, and at the second largest fire, that had been designated for cooking, and at the other fires dotting the field, music was being played or stories being shared. Joxter was at one of these fires, as a white haired mumrik was telling the story of seven colossal statues, and their undiscovered- supposedly- eighth statue.

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“Papa.” Snufkin stepped over to the fire Joxter was at, holding a wooden mug filled to the brim carefully in both his hands. “I was told to give this to you.”

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“Were you now?” Joxter chuckled, taking the mug from him. “And why’s that?”

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“They said that if we filled you with drinks you’d start telling stories.”

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“And is that why my mug is nearly spilling?” Joxter hid his grin by taking a careful sip from the mug, raising his eyebrows. Snufkin giggled, sitting down next to him. Joxter simply rolled his eyes playfully, quickly gulping down half the mug.

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“Alright, alright, I’ll start telling some stories now.” Joxter stood up, passing his mug to Snufkin to hold again as the white mumrik finished up her story and sat down. “Let’s see- have I told you about the time I met the Fairy Queen?”

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“Bullshit!” the white mumrik called playfully, laughing and accepting a mug passed to her from someone joining their campfire.

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“No- really! I’ve met the Fairy Queen. She’s smaller than my hand.” Joxter held up his hand for reference, to the little kids who ‘oohed softly. “Now, this is back when I used to travel with my friends, on a large, beautiful blue ship- now, hold on, I can’t seem to remember it’s name..”

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“The Ocean Orchestra, papa! Uncle Hodgekins’ ship!” Snufkin yelled, nearly toppling over the mug in his lap in his excitement.

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Joxter laughed. “Very good, Snufkin. Yes, it was a large blue ship, with a red roof, and her name was the Ocean Orchestra. And one night that I was travelling with my friends, I went out for a walk at night, yknow, as a mumrik does-” Joxter paused, grinning as a couple of the adults laughed. “Oh hush, one can go hog wild trapped on a boat for days on end! So I went for a walk, and I was deep into the forest when I happened upon a clearing, much smaller than this one. And in this clearing, I saw a circle of mushrooms beginning to grow, and up above my head was the full moon rising.”

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“So what did you do?” one of the children asked.

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“Well, I ran and ran all the way back to the ship, and woke up my best friend. You see, he’d never seen fairies before- not even a willowisp! So I knew I had to go get him so he could see the fairies. I woke him up, and dragged him with me back to the clearing and we hid in one of the bushes as the fairies began to arrive for their full moon dance.”

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“But one of the fairies noticed us, and told all the other fairies, who pulled us out of the bushes. And then- the Fairy Queen came down to us.”

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The children gasped excitedly as Joxter paused to drink from his mug again.

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“Yes! The Fairy Queen herself!” he continued. “She was the prettiest of the fairies, with a small delicate gown made of the softest, freshest rose petals, and golden hair tied into a bun, and her voice sounded like small glass windchimes. Now, we couldn’t understand her, so we had to play a little game with sign language, but the Fairy Queen invited us to dance with her fairies, and we spent the entire night dancing with them- we were so tired when it was over, we slept for three days! We made our other friends very worried about us.”

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One of the other adults scoffed. “You mean you got bewitched.”

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Joxter winked at them. “Well, I can’t say for certain. We didn’t step in their mushroom circle, and we certainly didn’t eat or drink any of their food. We’re not sure what happened, but we were certainly very tired after that.”

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“Tell us about the pirates again, sir!” one of the children cried. “And how you got away from them!”

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“You guys ask for that every year! Aren’t you getting tired of that story?” Joxter planted his hands on his waist, shaking his head. “Alright, the pirates. Let’s see- when I ran into the pirates, I probably wasn’t much older than you wildlings were…”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know i know, its in the evening and not in the morning, but at least it's the same day-? I scrapped my entire original chapter 3 and wrote this instead because I wanted to showcase more mumrik culture


	4. Chapter 4

_Drip._

  


_Drip._

  


_Drip._

  


_It’s now a steady flow of water coming through. It destroyed everything it came in contact with, and staining everything else. The water was up to his ankles, icy cold and chilling Joxter to the bone. Snufkin sat on a chair above the waterline, eyeing it with distrust._

  


_“Papa?” he asked hesitantly._

  


_Drip._

_  
_

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_Drip._

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_Drip-_

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The January wind isn’t even cold as it blew through, now that they had hitched a ride on a farmer’s wagon and were considerably much farther south, about as far away as Joxter would normally be if he wasn’t being held back by his forebodings, but it still chilled Joxter to the bone and he wasn’t sure why. It was almost like the wind is wet, an icy wind originating from deep within Moomin Valley, from the Lonely Mountains, taunting him and his dreams. It’s not a foreboding, he told himself repeatedly, because they weren’t near any large, potentially hazardous body of water. There was only the gentle river they had been following, not even deep enough for the waterline to go above Joxter’s waist. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling of water dripping down his spine or stop the echoing splashing in the back of his mind.

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Joxter shifted the blanket, keeping Snufkin covered up as he left the tent with their bag. He started the fire, throwing two of the fish they had caught the previous night onto their pan, and sat down next to the fire, tightening the bandage wrappings around his wrists and ankles for better support.

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By the time the fish were nearly finished cooking, Snufkin slid out of the tent, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he plopped down next to Joxter, leaving barely enough elbow room for Joxter to take the pan off from over the fire.

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“Sleep well?” he asked.

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Snufkin nodded, taking the skewered fish that Joxter offered to him and blowing on it slightly. “Yes. Do your wrists still hurt, papa?” He reached up, tugging on his sleeve to see the bandages.

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“A little bit.” Joxter pulled his mug away from the campfire, testing it to make sure the water was fully heated before digging into a small pouch, dropping a handful of the herbs inside into the mug and swirling the mug to mix it. Taking a quick sip from it, he peered into the bag. He still had plenty of most herbs, but he was running low on nettles. He’d have to keep his eye out for some.

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“It’s leaving time,” Snufkin said suddenly.

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Joxter could feel the tug as well. They had stayed in this area for a little while, enjoying the beauty of this particular patch of the forest while there wasn’t the tug, wasn’t the need to wander. But the tug was back, insistently pulling at his core to pack up and move on.

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“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s leaving time.”

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Snufkin made him finish the entire mug before even thinking about packing up, even though Joxter insisted he would have finished it anyways. But the two boys packed up camp and after rinsing their utensils in the river, they found the trail again and headed on their way.

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As Joxter snagged a couple pieces of fruit hanging low in the trees, Snufkin abruptly pulled a harmonica away from his mouth.

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“Papa, why can’t mumriks swim?”

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Joxter jerked his head away from the path to look at Snufkin. “What?”

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“Why can’t we swim? You tell me to be careful because we can’t, and you showed me how to look for dangerous currents. If we know this, why can’t we swim?”

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It took Joxter a couple of moments to formulate an answer, which Snufkin seemed fine with. He went back to experimentally blowing into the harmonica, a little silver thing he’d gotten at the Midwinter gathering, the white mumrik insisting she had no need for it, and Snufkin had eagerly taken it on her insistence. He’d taken to it well so far, and Joxter knew he’d be expertly playing in no time.

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“It’s not that we can’t swim,” Joxter finally said, “But that deep waters or strong currents can be very hard for us to swim in.”

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“Why?”

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“Well, our feet are shaped very much like a cat’s. They’re made for running and climbing, not necessarily for swimming. We can paddle a bit in low water, but deeper waters or strong currents are too strong for us to swim safely.” Joxter kicked a pebble and watched it bounce off a tree trunk. “Plus, we always wear thick jackets and boots because we’re always travelling. It’s very hard to swim in those.”

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“Huh,” Snufkin said thoughtfully, but he went back to playing on the harmonica, satisfied with the answer.

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A little after noon, they came upon a lone sign. Thinking nothing of it, Joxter didn’t even spare a glance at it and kicked it over, to Snufkin’s giggling delight, and they continued on their way.

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One sign turned into two. With a huff, Joxter kicked that one over too.

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Two turned into four. Into eight. No shouting, no picking flowers, no smoking. Joxter had taken to ripping the signs out of the ground and snapping them over his knee, leaving scattered scraps of broken wooden and chipped paint in his wake.

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And then the signs turned into a tall metal fence, with sleek black poles with barely any space between them, and slightly pointed decorations at the top- a park fence. Joxter scowled. A few paces to the left and the right proved it wasn’t just a single set of poles, but a full fence that went around a good section of the forest.

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And blocking the trail.

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Snufkin stepped up to the fence, wrapping his hands around the poles and starting to step in between.

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“Don’t push it or you’ll get stuck.” Joxter warned, taking off his backpack, and threw it over the fence. Snufkin stood back obediently and handed his bag to Joxter, and it was chucked over the fence as well.

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“Come here now, hold on tight.” Joxter scooped Snufkin up, grabbing the back of his jacket between his teeth. Snufkin clung to his clothes with his claws, and Joxter hopped up onto the fence, starting to climb over it.

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“Why is there a fence in the forest? Are they trying to turn it into a park?”

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“Probably,” Joxter said with a grunt, dropping to the ground on the other side of the fence. He set Snufkin down, wiping off his paws and picking up his bag. “Be cautious. There might be park keepers nearby.”

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Snufkin nodded, taking Joxter’s hand and squeezing it tightly. Joxter squeezed back comfortingly, and they continued down the path, walking as silent as only mumriks were able to, not even the leaves crunching underneath careful steps.

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“Are we going to take down the park?” Snufkin whispered.

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“Not now, not during the day. It’ll be too easy for them to catch us. We’ll find a safe place to camp for now, and destroy it later, when it’s dark.”

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“By the river?”

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Joxter shook his head as he walked Snufkin into a groove of fruit trees, meticulously trimmed and grown almost symmetrically. Annoying and too perfect, nothing like how trees really grow in nature, Joxter thought, and led Snufkin into climbing one of the trees, where a few of the branches were nestled almost entirely together to make a sort of resting area.

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“We’ll rest here.” Joxter set the bag safely against the trunk, and Snufkin scrambled onto the branches.

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“We won’t get seen?”

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“No, not as long as we’re quiet.” Joxter unwrapped his wrists, rubbing the sore joints. Snufkin watched him for a moment before ruffling through the bag and pulling out the roll of bandages to offer to him. Joxter took it gratefully and rewrapped his wrists tightly as Snufkin curled up against his side.

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The two of them settled down for a few hours until nightfall came. After it became sufficiently dark out so that the park keepers couldn’t see them, they silently packed up and snuck out of the trees. They both slunk around in the darkness, close to the ground, staying close to the bushes and shadows, until they found the heart of the park, filled with signs and low wooden fences around the walkways.

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Joxter crouched down to Snufkin’s height, carefully handing him a small pocket knife.

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“Here you are. You can cut up the signs like you do with firewood.”

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Snufkin’s eyes gleamed with excitement, and he took the knife, gripping the handle with both hands. “I can?”

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“Go nuts, cut them up however you want.” Joxter grinned as Snufkin bolted to the nearest sign with the knife, and began pulling up the low wooden fences blocking off the grass, throwing them into a pile. Slowly, Snufkin added bits and pieces of signs to the pile, before settling down to watch Joxter push the wood into a stable pile.

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“Now Snufkin, when you light a large fire, you want to circle it with stones. For small fires, like our campfire, it’s okay to just surround it with dirt, but large bonfires spread very easily and can burn the whole forest down. So you build them away from trees and make a ring of stones and dirt.” Joxter placed the last couple of rocks around the pile before stepping back and lighting a match against the sole of his boot.

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And with a flick, he tossed the lit match into the pile of wood.

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Slowly, small flames began to lick up the wood calmly, eating away at it and peeling back the paint.

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“And that’s how you take back a park!”

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“It was fun!”

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“It was a lot of fun. That’s why I like to destroy parks.” Joxter took a large branch and poked at their impromptu bonfire, making sure all of the signs caught fire.

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“Hey you!” a park keeper called from the distance. “Stop right now!”

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“Aaaand it’s time to go!” Joxter dropped the branch, picking up Snufkin. As the park keeper ran towards them, Joxter dashed away as fast as he could, clutching Snufkin to his chest.

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“You! Stop there immediately! This is private property!”

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“Not anymore!” Joxter flung himself over the fence, Snufkin burrowing himself into his jacket. He bolted down the path, darting in between trees as the park keeper chased them, yelling and waving his baton. Snufkin squealed with glee, making faces at the park keeper over Joxter’s shoulder.

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“Hold tight now!” Joxter leapt up into a low tree, jumping from tree to tree before landing back on the ground, trying to leave an inconsistent trail and confuse the park keeper. He glanced behind them to see if he was still close behind- and nearly ran onto tracks as a train came rushing past.

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Joxter sucked in a sharp breath, darting back to avoid being dragged underneath the wheels as the freight train roared past. He could hear the park keeper catching up behind them, cursing as he tripped through tangled underbrush. An open boxcar rushed past them, and Joxter turned on his heels, chasing after it.

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He really should have wrapped his ankles tighter, as well as wrapped his knees. Jumping over the fences and through the trees was starting to take its toll, his joints aching with each step.

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“Hold onto your hat!” As they caught up to the boxcar, Joxter peeled Snufkin off of him and tossed him in. Almost immediately, a pair of gloved hands appeared, yanking Snufkin in before a mumrik stepped to the door, flax-colored hair whipping around violently in the wind. Within a second, she grabbed Joxter by the shoulders and hauled him into the box car as well.

__

  


__

“Sorry if I’ve startled you.” She pushed her shoulder against the boxcar door, moving it halfway closed. “Not gonna close more, it’s rusted.”

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__

“Thank you,” Joxter said, sitting down against one of the walls. Snufkin poked his head out from behind a crate, scooting over to him and eyeing the blond mumrik warily. “I’m Joxaren. This is Snusmumriken. You are?”

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__

“Freyis.” The mumrik pulled a lantern off from the side of her bag, setting it on a tall crate and lighting it before settling down in a corner.

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__

“You’re a northerner, aren’t you? It’s a heavy accent you’ve got there.” And thick hair and fur, Joxter thought, as he realized what he thought was white mittens on her hands was actually thick, pale blonde fur. Mumriks were southern creatures by nature, but Joxter had heard of a few with thicker fur that could stand the northern cold.

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__

“I am.” And with that, she turned and curled up, presumably closing her eyes to rest.

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__

Joxter didn’t feel particularly snubbed. If mumriks were solitary creatures, the northern variety were particularly even more so, and he wasn’t going to bother her any further if she didn’t wish to be. He rested against the wall, running a finger along the markings etched and scraped into the wall.

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__

“Snufkin? Do you still have the pocket knife?”

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Snufkin sat up, digging through his pockets and pulled out the knife. Joxter flipped it open and placed the tip of the knife into the wall.

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__

“What are you doing?”

__

  


__

“Carving my name into the wall.”

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“Why?”

__

  


__

“Because I want to. Do you want to?”

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__

Snufkin nodded, and Joxter passed him the knife. Snufkin stood up and pressed the knife into the wall next to Joxter’s name and shakily began to carve his own name into the wood. When he finished, he handed the back to Joxter and snuggled into his lap.

__

  


__

“Want a story to fall asleep?”

__

  


__

“Yes please.”

__

  


__

“Let’s see, have I told you about the bear druid I met?”

__

  


__

Snufkin shook his head, yawning and burying his face into Joxter's coat.

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__

"A few years ago, my winter travels took me to a place called Germany, and I ran into a large golden bear..."

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	5. Chapter 5

_Drip._

  


_Drip._

_  
_

__

_Drip._

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__

_Joxter was struggling to keep his head above the water. It’s past his shoulders now, nearly to his nose, and he was fighting to keep breathing air and not the liquid. It’s colder than ice, colder than any Groke, so cold he isn’t sure he remembers what it feels to be warm again. The water smells foul, like a rotting corpse and bad seabrine, with black oily scum floating on the surface of the water, making him gag._

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__

_“Snufkin!” he called out, his voice harsh and his throat sore and raw from shouting, but Snufkin never answered._

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_“Snufkin!”_

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_Nothing could be heard above the roar of the rushing water._

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_Drip._

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__

_Drip._

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_Drip-_

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__

“Joxaren.”

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Joxter snapped his eyes open. Freyis let go of his shoulders, standing up.

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__

“Foreman’s coming. You better bail.” She snagged up her bag from a crate, grabbing the lantern as she leapt out the open door and disappeared.

__

  


__

Joxter stood up, wincing as his knees screamed in protest. He pulled their bag over his shoulder and scooped up a still sleeping Snufkin, hopping out of the boxcar and leaving before the foreman could catch them. He quickly disappeared into the forests surrounded the trainyard, Snufkin curled up asleep in his arms, and once he felt they were sufficiently far enough away, he sat down against a large tree. Snufkin stirred against him, slowly lifting his head and yawning.

__

  


__

“Papa, you alright?”

__

  


__

“I’m fine. Just have to rest a bit is all.” Joxter dug through their bag, pulling out the bandages to rewrap his joints.

__

  


__

“It’s your forebodings, isn’t it papa?”

__

  


__

Joxter sighed softly through his nose. It was near the end of January, and his aches had only gotten worse. If they turned back now and returned to Moomin Valley they’d be back by beginning of April, just as spring began. It’d be a bit early, and still a bit chilly, and the valley would still be asleep for another week or two. But if they stayed inside with a fire, he was sure they’d manage just find.

__

  


__

He couldn’t really deny it anymore. With the continuous nightmares and the ever increasing pains in his joints, it really couldn’t be passed as anything else anymore. It was definitely forebodings, but there wasn’t any large bodies of water near them. He made sure they had stayed plenty clear away. On their way back to Moomin Valley, he’d do the same. Since the forebodings had gotten worse the farther south they went, perhaps they’d lessen as they started going north once again.

__

  


__

“It is,” he finally admitted. “Normally I don’t turn back north until later in February, but we should probably turn back now since we’re a bit slow. I’m sorry, Snufkin.”

__

  


__

“That’s alright, papa. You’re not feeling well, and you’ll take me next year, right?”

__

  


__

“Of course.” Joxter finished wrapping up his other knee, wincing as he stood up slowly. “Perhaps we’ll travel a bit longer next year to make up for it.”

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Snufkin beamed brightly, handing Joxter the backpack. “Sounds fair to me!”

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__

Joxter pulled the backpack over his shoulders, starting to head back down the trail with Snufkin at his heels.

__

  


__

“Do you have any of that special tea left?”

__

  


__

“I drank the last of it a week ago. I’ve got some spare ginger, but we’ll need nettles before I can make any more.”

__

  


__

“Then I’ll keep an eye out! And then you can make your tea and feel better!”

__

  


__

“It’s not going to magically fix everything, but it’ll help.”

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__

Snufkin nodded, darting ahead and eyeing the underbrush as they walked. There didn’t seem to be any nettles about, but he did find a couple of edible mushrooms that were tucked away for later use.

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__

Joxter had to take breaks often to sit and rest, and adjust the wrappings around his knees and ankles to keep them tight. Snufkin wandered away during these times, searching the surrounding area for nettles, always making sure to stay within earshot. But by the time the sun had set, they hadn’t travelled nearly as far as Joxter might have liked. Hopefully he’d be able to travel longer without breaks the next day, or if he kept up like this, they might arrive late in the valley even after leaving early.

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__

Joxter poked the fire with a stick, trying to keep it going. His wrists and knees ached unlike any foreboding he’d ever had before, except for the very first one. The first ones were always the worst, after all.

__

  


__

Snufkin crawled back into their camp from under a bush, errant twigs and leaves stuck in his hair. “I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find any of the nettles.”

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__

“That’s alright, maybe we’ll find some tomorrow. Come and eat.”

__

  


__

Snufkin joined him against the tree Joxter was using as a backrest, and Joxter passed him a bowl of soup.

__

  


__

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without it? Mama says you should drink it everyday if you have forebodings or your joints will get bad.”

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Joxter snorted in amusement. “I’m not that old. I’ll be fine for a couple days without it.”

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“Promise?”

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“Yes, Snufkin. I promise.”

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__

Snufkin looked back to the fire, drinking his soup slowly. Joxter poked at the fire a couple more times before setting the stick aside, letting their campfire slowly dwindle. They sat around the fire as the last few embers died, resting against the roots of the tree. Snufkin ran his hands over the exposed twisted roots, humming curiously.

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“What type of tree is this, papa? It doesn’t grow in the valley.”

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Joxter tilted his head back and looked up into the tree’s branches, watching the stars between the leaves. He could tell it was old, and he thought he recognized the species, but the name escaped him.

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“I’m not sure, I can’t remember the name. It’s very pretty though, isn’t it?”

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“I think this is my favorite type of tree now,” Snufkin declared. He kicked off his boots and climbed up the trunk. He climbed back down a minute later, a handful of twigs and leaves in his hands. He settled back down next to Joxter again, and began to weave them together.

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“Whatchya making there?”

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__

“A crown.” Snufkin stuck a few of the leaves into the knots, before he stood up and put the crown around the brim of Joxter’s hat. “There!”

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__

“It’s lovely, thank you.” Joxter smiled, pushing his hat back out of his face. “The fire’s nearly out now, though, so how about we head to sleep?”

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__

“I wanted to check the riverbed for nettles though.”

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__

“We’ll check tomorrow morning before we leave, alright? Come on now.” Joxter herded Snufkin into the tent after dousing their fire, and they settled down for the night. Snufkin curled up under the blanket and closed his eyes, listening closely. When he heard Joxter’s breathing slow, he peeked one eye open and slowly poked his cheek. Joxter didn’t stir, so Snufkin slowly slid out from underneath the blanket and slipped outside the tent.

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He knew there had to be nettle somewhere! It grew like weeds in the south, and it was only a matter of time before Snufkin knew he’d find a big bush of them. He was almost certain he’d find one by the riverbed.

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__

Snufkin picked up their mushroom-picking basket, dragging it behind him as he headed down to the river. There wasn’t any on this side, but if he squinted, he could see some across the water. Hands out on either side to keep his balance, he carefully began to hop across on the stones. The water continued to flow past calmly, barely splashing at his feet, and Snufkin jumped onto the sand on the other side of the river, puffing his chest up pridely. He quickly whirled back around and began to carefully pick the berries off the bush.

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After picking the bush clean, the basket was about half full. It should be enough to hold them for another week or so, Snufkin thought, and he heaved the basket up, carrying it back to the bank to cross the river again. It had been late when Joxter had fallen asleep, and surely it was even later now. Snufkin was tired, and the idea of curling back underneath the blanket was quite appealing.

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__

Snufkin started hopping back across the river, teetering slightly with the basket in his arms. He frowned, trying to keep his balance as best as he could. He could have sworn the water had been calm, earlier, barely splashing, but now as the water rushed past, it splashed against the rocks and was soaking his legs.

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__

Bracing himself and holding the basket of nettles tightly, Snufkin went to jump to the next rock, but the splashing water had made the rocks slippery under his feet, and Snufkin slipped, crashing into the water.

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_Drip._

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_........Drip._

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_..................Drip-_

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_The water was gone, now._

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_The forest was unnaturally silent, unnaturally still. Not a single thing is moving, speaking, breathing, like something unknown, far bigger and more important than anything that had ever existed had frozen it in time._

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_A tall towering figure loomed over Joxter, a monster of twisted and gnarled wood forming a grotesque mask and body, clumps of ancient moss growing on its joints and eyes, and hanging in dreads like hair._

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__

_The creature groaned in anguish, a sorrowful sound that yanked at Joxter’s chest, and as the colossal creature moved past him, its joints creaked and clashed like falling trees, the earth shaking every time its foot hit the ground, taking a step._

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__

_“My son,” the creature groaned, and Joxter covered his ears at the deafening voice, the sound like a hurricane rushing through and wiping out a forest in one gust. Pulses of pure unconcentrated energy were blasted through the forest, the world around them bursting to life around them as it felt like every blood vessel, every cell in Joxter’s body wished to explode. Grass and flowers grew around them at the speed of light, the trees blooming and growing to tower over even the goliath of a creature._

  


__

_“My son,” the creature groaned, “My son, oh my son, where have you gone..?”_

__

__  
_ _

_____ _

_But the forest was silent, not even the sound of distant birds chirping, and the god, Cypress, fell to the earth and wept._

_____ _

  


_____ _

  


_____ _

Joxter snapped his eyes open. The aches in his joints were gone, the blanket pushed aside and Snufkin gone.

_____ _

  


_____ _

“Snufkin!” Joxter leapt out of the tent, eyes darting over the empty camp, looking for any sign of Snufkin’s presence. Snufkin’s boots were gone, as was their mushroom basket, but nothing else looked like it had been moved.

_____ _

  


_____ _

“Snufkin!”

_____ _

  


_____ _

Joxter dashed down the hill, skidding to a stop as he approached the river. The water, previously calm and gentle and shallow up until now, was swollen with flood water, much of the bank swept away by the angry crashing water. Joxter’s heart jumped to his throat as he watched the water sweep away anything caught in its path, and he ran along the waterside.

_____ _

  


_____ _

“Snufkin! Snufkin!!!”

_____ _

  


_____ _

  


_____ _

And back at the camp, the cypress tree with its gnarled roots stood a little taller.

_____ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Wednesday is Christmas, so the final chapter will be posted on Thursday. After that, I will be taking a one week break to hammer more of the final fic of this series written out before posting it. Rather than the final fic, something else that I've already written for Mymble Jr/Too Ticki will be posted.


	6. Chapter 6

_The tree stood tall and solemn, the wind nonexistent around it, The forest was still, the heads of the trees eerily unmoving, and the animals and creeps of the forest seemingly bowed their heads to the tree, not in honor or respect, but in grief._

  


_A life had been lost here._

  


_The cypress tree grew tall, stood firm and proud, scraping the underbelly of the sky with its topmost branches, circled by the other trees who grew far shorter, bowed heads in respect. The cypress tree was lonely, despite being surrounded, and old, ancient. It had seen empires rise and fall, it had seen species wiped out and return anew, had been there before any god’s birth and would remain there until the last god’s gasping, rattling final breath, bearing witness to the birth and collapse of stars, of life on this world, everything from the beginning to the end._

  


_A child had been lost here._

  


_A symbol of unending grief, the cypress tree was, planted by the hands of a grieving father. It had been watered by the grieving god’s tears, and would forever grow strong, grow tall, grow firm. The cypress tree would not die until that grieving creature, a monstrous, colossal being of twisted, clashing, creaking, groaning wood, too had died._

__

  


__

_A young boy has been lost here, the wind gently whispered through the boughs of the trees, but its breath did nothing to shake even the tiniest leaf on the cypress tree. A young boy who’d not even learned to take a sharpened stone to dead wood and give it new life in the form of something new, of something else._

_  
_

__

_A young prince, perhaps, has been lost here, mourned the weeping willow, head bowed as her purple flowers wilted and drifted to the ground below, washed away by the stream’s gentle current. A young protector, a young deity, made from the earth to love and protect it, to cherish and live amongst it._

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__

_A little fae, a squirrel jumped from branch to branch, tree to tree, but never once dared to lay a single claw on the cypress tree, of which Snufkin stood under. A little fairy, barely eight, with tricksterous hands and curious eyes, a deft clever tongue, made from clay to hold dear all of what the world is, made to ask questions, made to defy and made to carve out his own unique small path in the world when no one else would dare to do so._

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__

_Micheal was lost here, said the cypress tree, and the forest fell silent, fell still once again at its booming voice as Snufkin lifted his head to look into its twisted, gnarled branches._

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__

_Micheal was lost here, said the cypress tree once again, but only lost and nothing more._

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__

Snufkin’s eyes slowly drifted open, and the forest disappeared around him, the leaves and pine needles and the mossy bark of the trees melting into the green canvas walls of his tent. With a stretch and a yawn, pulling on his jacket despite the summer heat, he stepped out of the tent and into the flower meadow he’d chosen to camp in.

__

  


__

The shade of the tree he’d set his camp under provided somewhat of a refuge from the heat, and Snufkin lifted his head to the sky. The comet he’d been following on whim painted the sky in bright vivid oranges and reds, making the summer’s heat only more unbearable. But it was easily one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and the heat was worth the trailing he did after it, running after the tail day by day to see where it would go next. Perhaps he’d circle the whole world and then some, following the comet.

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__

Snufkin moved back under the shade of the trees to find what little solace from the heat he could. He made as small a campfire as he could get away with, just enough to make a bit of porridge to eat for breakfast. The idea of eating something hot wasn’t appealing, but he had run out of edible mushrooms a day or two ago, and while the apple trees he had passed were laden with fruit, they’d been sour and unripe, and he hadn’t bothered to pick anymore after the first one.

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__

His fire was doused the second his porridge was done cooking, and while he waited for it to cool, Snufkin set about packing up the rest of his camp. The porridge was still unbearably warm when he ate it, and Snufkin quickly rinsed the bowl in the stream before setting out, following the tail of the comet.

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__

He left the meadow and came into a forest, but as he continued to walk, the trees came fewer and fewer until Snufkin found himself on a worn dirt path, the kind that was unintentionally made from someone walking the same way every day, rather than the kind that was intentional, grass ripped out and lined with stones. With a glance up to the tail of the comet, Snufkin started along the dirt path as it wove in between trees and other large bushes. At noon, when the heat became its worst and would remain its worst for a couple hours, he ducked under one of the larger trees to set up camp and rest to avoid the heat. He didn’t bother with a campfire or unpacking his bedroll, ducking into his tent the moment he was done to perhaps try and take a nap. But he had only rested for a little while, lazily playing his harmonica, before he heard voices coming down the path. The notes he’d been playing died off in favor of overhearing the conversation, to make sure it wasn’t any hemulans or fillijonks or whatever the sorts about to bust his tent down and yell about private property.

__

  


__

“-in the observation tower should be able to tell us more about the comet!”

__

  


__

“Slow down, Moomin! All this running is making me sweaty and it’s going to ruin my fur! Besides, Miss Mumble told us to stay under the parasols!”

__

  


__

“I still think it’s a bad idea.. Wouldn’t it be better to just stay inside away from the heat?”

__

  


__

“Oh, stop being a sniveling coward and have some fun with us! You’re so boring sometimes!”

__

  


__

“Look, Snorkmaiden, someone’s set up a tent!”

__

  


__

“A good way to beat the heat, I’d say. Can’t we take a break and rest in the shade for a little while?”

__

  


__

The footsteps began approaching his tent, and Snufkin took that as his cue to exit, pushing the brim of his hat out of his eyes.

__

  


__

“Oh, hello!” The first voice spoke again, and a small but fluffy looking troll backed up a few steps from his tent. “I’m Moomin! It’s nice to meet you.”

__

  


__

“Nice to meet you as well.” Snufkin glanced behind the troll, spotting a young snork with a pink parasol over her shoulder, a short mymlan regarding him oddly (which he immediately decided to ignore, something about her bright red hair giving him that nagging thought of something he’d forgotten but couldn’t name, the small scar through his brow twinging-) and an odd brown creature that seemed to be cowering behind the young snork. “I’m sorry, normally I’d offer coffee to guests but I ran out this morning.”

__

  


__

“Do I know you?” the mymlan interrupted. She marched over to Snufkin and peered up at him.

__

  


__

“Maybe you do or maybe you don’t. I travel a lot and don’t stay in one place for very long.”

__

  


__

“And before you started travelling?” The mymlan demanded.

__

  


__

Snufkin’s scar twinged painfully. “Don’t remember much before that, I’m afraid. Took a nasty fall as a child.”

__

  


__

The mymlan looked displeased at his answer, still studying him.

__

  


__

“How awful!” the young snork cried, daintily lifting one hand from the pole of her parasol to her snout. “You mean to say you travel all by yourself without parents? Where is your home?”

__

  


__

“Nowhere. Or everywhere, depends on how you think about it.” Snufkin folded his hands behind his back. “I travel where I want to and leave when I decide. I find it rather freeing.”

__

  


__

“There you are! Don’t run too far ahead now.” An older mymlan rounded the corner, with bright red hair matching the shorter mymlan’s pulled neatly back, another parasol held in her hands. “You must stay in the shade now if you’re going to stop and rest, you don’t want to get heatstroke.”

__

  


__

“Sorry Miss Mumble.” The moomintroll scooted back into the shade of the tree.

__

  


__

“It’s quite alright, I just worry after all.” Mumble smiled at the lot of children, eyes drifting over to Snufkin before all the color drained from her face.

__

  


__

“Everything alright?” Snufkin asked, “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

__

  


__

“Snufkin?” she asked.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder, I'll be taking a short intermission between this and the last two legs of this series. Instead of Trails next week, some Mumble/Too Ticki will be posted as I hammer out the rest of this series. Merry-late-Christmas!  
> Soundtrack! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6aYWVde8QFQXSZekGMzVrquFhlN2VcMa  
> 1) "Pompeii", Bastille  
> 2) "The Moss", Cosmo Sheldrake  
> 3) "Upside Down", Jack Johnson  
> 4) "Little Talks [My Head is an Animal]", Of Monsters and Men  
> 5) "Waterbound", Dirk Powell

**Author's Note:**

> So when Joxter mentioned bog bodies, I accidentally went off in a spiral and researched bog bodies for, like, 30 minutes. They're actually super interesting.


End file.
